


*That* Tentacle Fic

by Telaryn



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies), Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest (2006)
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon Compliant, Choking, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consentacles, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Physical Abuse, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Tentacle Rape, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 14:26:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3212465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telaryn/pseuds/Telaryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This fic is set at the point where Will is trying to lift the key to the Dead Man's Chest.  In *my* version, he's...well...really not successful at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	*That* Tentacle Fic

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. Mickey owns them. A tiny little plot bunny with REALLY BIG FANGS kidnapped them and brought them to me for a couple of weeks. Now that I've had my fun, I set them free to return to their owners, having reaped no financial rewards in the process.
> 
> This is also the only fic I have ever written where I went back to see the movie an additional time to check the blocking of the scene.

He’d survived so many close calls, it was easy to dismiss this as just one more. Jones’ eyes had drifted closed, his breathing had quieted – why wouldn’t Will have assumed that the music box had done its work; luring the monstrous sea captain back to sleep?

It never once occurred to him that Davy Jones hadn’t survived this long at the helm of the Flying Dutchman by allowing himself to be caught by surprise. He was so focused on lifting the key from under the nest of heavy tentacles that he never realized the captain’s slumped posture was little more than a well-baited trap.

Will cried out in shock and pain, as three tentacles struck him across the face in quick succession; momentarily stunning him and forcing him to drop the tools he’d been using. By the time his vision cleared, the lobster claw Jones called a left hand had closed around his throat. “I should just kill you and be done wi’ it,” the Captain observed. Will’s throat worked convulsively, panicked by the serrated edges stroking his skin. “It unsettles the crew, having you about, Mr. Turner.”

 _Steady…_ Will forced himself to look Jones full in the eyes, pushing down as much of his fear as he could. _He’s waiting for you to flinch._ It didn’t help that he very much wanted to flinch – the claw cupping his neck was large enough to decapitate him with a single movement.

Davy Jones smiled, seeing Will’s resolve. “You’re a bold one, Mr. Turner.” The claw pressed upwards, forcing Will on tiptoe in order to keep breathing. “I wonder how easy t’would be to break you?” Memory of the lashes Bootstrap Bill had laid across his back rose sharp in Will’s mind, making him wince. _The boatswain prides himself on cleaving flesh from bone with every stroke…_

“Our mutual…friend…Jack Sparrow, tells me you’re promised in marriage.” Will shuddered involuntarily as one of the smaller tentacles at Jones’ temple trailed lightly down the side of his face. More tentacles, impossibly cold and slimy, slipped inside his shirt. His stomach roiled at the feel of them wriggling against his bare skin. _Steady…_ he thought again. _He’s not killing you yet._ As long as he could stay alive, Will knew that he still had a chance to steal the key and turn his fortunes into the wind.

The bullwhip-length tentacle on the middle of the Captain’s right hand slid under Will’s coat, wrapping securely around his waist. “Your Da’s not here to stand between us, Mr. Turner,” Jones said, easing his grip on Will’s throat enough to allow him to return to a flat-footed stance. "I suggest you remember that in the next few minutes.”

Will’s pulse was thudding against the side of his neck, making him dizzy with the need to struggle against what Jones was doing to him. Blind panic was screaming at the edges of his brain, but a quick glance down at the lobster claw still bracketing his throat was more than enough to convince him to remain quiet.

He was distracted a second too long. Jones slapped him across the face again. “You will pay attention Mr. Turner, do I make myself clear?”

Will had to swallow twice before he could make his voice work. “Perfectly.”

The tentacle circling his waist rippled, tugging him closer. “I mark you a virgin, Mr. Turner.” Will felt his face grow immediately hot, and knew he’d betrayed himself. The Captain laughed, a murky bubbling sound. “You’re a romantic, smitten with the idea of honorable marriage to your lass.” One of the tentacles resting against his chest flicked convulsively, and Will flinched.

“She is a lady,” he growled, forcing himself to look Jones in the eye.

The Captain laughed again. “Aye, I’m sure she is. Beautiful too, or ye wouldn’t be so bound to show her honor.” His voice made the word a mocking insult. “You dream of her though.” Will gasped as the tips of two of the tentacles at his chest lightly brushed his nipples. The sensation was horrifyingly distracting, exciting his nerves and quickening his breathing.

Jones watched him closely. “Will you love her slowly the first time she’s naked before you?” The stroking at his chest became more insistent, drawing blood to the area and tightening the skin. “Take one of her soft, shapely breasts in your hand and put the tip into your mouth?”

Will gasped – a sobbing, hoarse sound – as one of the suckers on the underside of the tentacle closed over his nipple. “Nurse at her teat like you were a babe again?” A deliciously slow, rhythmic pulling at his nipple sent a stab of pleasure through Will’s chest. He swayed in Jones’ grasp, his vision blurring from the rush of endorphins.

“You may have joined my crew unsworn, Mr. Turner,” A second sucker slipped over Will’s other nipple, tugging and teasing and pulling it into a throbbing counterpoint, “but I will have your soul before we’re through.”

The threat helped Will come back to himself somewhat. “You lost…Captain,” he said, focusing on Jones as best he could. “My soul is my own.”

“Is it really?” The tentacle around his waist squeezed, holding him more firmly in place. Two of the smaller nearby tentacles began working at the fastening of his trousers – kicking over every scrap of resolve Will had managed to gather around himself. Panic overwhelming him for a moment, he began to struggle – throwing himself backwards against Jones’ hold on him. The Captain never wavered in his focus – in spite of Will’s efforts to free himself, Jones got his trousers open. Half a dozen tentacles pushed the fabric past his hips to pool at his ankles.

“You may escape me yet, Mr. Turner,” Jones conceded – his tone reasonable and normal, as if they were having a simple difference of opinion. “Tis true that I need a man’s free consent to crew the Dutchman, and I do believe you’d die before giving me your oath and your soul.” Will was only dimly aware that Jones was talking now – his entire being was focused on escaping the tentacles reaching for his partially erect cock.

In the end, his struggles were futile, only serving to amuse the Captain. “If that happens,” Jones continued, “and you reach your lass and marry her…” The lobster claw tightened suddenly, freezing Will in place. One of Jones tentacles stroked the length of his cock. The rush of sensation made him cry out, arching his back and thrusting his hips forward into the stroke. “On the night you finally bed her,” Jones’ voice never changed tone or cadence, but Will could feel the Captain’s eyes on him, “you’ll see my face.” The slimy length of rubbery muscle stroked him again, this time twining all the way around. “You’ll hear my voice, and remember this moment.” _Back…forth…_

“Stop,” Will protested, trying to gather enough energy to continue struggling. “Please…” It was too much. The beating, the fear – the emotional roller coaster of the flight from Port Royal, Jack’s betrayal, the shock of finding his father in thrall to the fiend who now had Will at his mercy – it was all suddenly more than he had in him to fight.

“Begging, Mr. Turner? I don’t require your pleas – I require your submission.” _Back…forth…_ Jones knew just the right amount of pressure to exert as he jacked his victim. Will made a small sound of protest, as he realized his hips had started moving in concert with the captain’s manipulations. _No…please._ He didn’t want this – didn’t want any of it – but the lobster claw at his throat, and his own emotional exhaustion made it impossible for him to fight what was going to happen any longer.

_You can’t save Elizabeth if you’re dead._

The thought destroyed what little resistance Will had left to him. _It’s a small price,_ he thought, letting his body do what it wanted. The sensations building in his groin felt incredible – he’d been alone and cold and miserable for so long. _Back…forth…back…forth…_

He was lost, sagging in the Captain’s iron grip. The cold, slimy tentacle that probed between his ass cheeks brought him screaming back to the present.

“Hold still!” Jones ordered, increasing the pressure on Will’s throat and forcing him onto his toes again. The tip of the tentacle worked past the puckered ring of skin and muscle, slipping inside him. _Cold…so cold…_

Pain began radiating outwards, mixing with the pleasure still building in his groin. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Will forced himself to relax. While Jones was right about him being a virgin, he understood enough physiology to know that resisting this new outrage was only going to end up getting him irretrievably hurt.

Submission helped, letting the burning, tearing pain slip into an aching pressure. Instead of thrusting into him, Jones was undulating the tentacle – letting each ripple carry him deeper inside his victim.

Will squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force back the tears burning at the corners. He had given up so much to the Captain that something deep inside rebelled against showing this one final weakness. The slap of a tentacle across his face rocked his head back. “Pay attention, Mr. Turner! If I have to instruct you again, it will go ill with your father as well as you.”

 _Back…forth…_ the slickness of the tentacle on his cock had created an incredible friction. Will thrust involuntarily into the stroke, and whimpered as the movement made him more aware of the tentacle impaling him from behind. His head lolled forward again and defeated, he watched the captain manipulating him. _Back…forth…_ each stroke picked up speed, slipping into a rhythm with the tentacle fucking him from behind. Panting for air now, Will could feel the orgasm teasing at the edge of his awareness.

It broke over him, and he came screaming and convulsing in the captain’s grasp. Jones stroked him relentlessly, milking everything Will had to give. It all seemed to go on forever – every brush against his cock set off another shuddering, gasping orgasm.

When he was finished, near to passing out, Jones finally released his cock. Will stared in horrified fascination as he raised a tentacle to his mouth and licked at the residue. “Very nice,” he observed, taking his time cleaning himself. Will gasped for breath, trying to regain enough self control to stand on his own.

He’d almost managed it, when Jones pulled free of his ass. It was a sharp, swift movement – Will screamed, his vision going red and his body arching in the captain’s grasp. Laughing, Jones finally released him – Will collapsed bonelessly to the cold, slimy deck.

He lay there for several moments, hovering on the edge of unconsciousness, knowing that passing out in Jones’ presence would only invite more abuse. A tentacle brushed lightly across his forehead, smoothing damp hair out of his face.

Will wanted to flinch, to pull away, but he could only look up at the Captain crouching over him. “If you fix nothing else in your mind, Mr. Turner, you will remember this. You may escape me one day. You may make your way back to your lass, and ye may even marry her.” Jones smiled.

“And when she finally lies naked beneath you – warm and willing and begging you to love her – it’s not her touch that’ll be in your thoughts.”


End file.
